


Sedo Pro Tempestas

by ladyeternal



Series: Bindings 'verse [8]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Apology Sex, Deep throat, Do I really need to warn you that I write porn?, Fellatio, Massage, Multi, Orgasm self-denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, porn and feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7190198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The calm before the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sedo Pro Tempestas

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: None
> 
> Warnings: Do I really need to warn you that I write pr0n? ~_^
> 
> Disclaimer: The series White Collar, its characters and settings are the property of their respective creators. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored, and am only playing with the White Collar world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Author’s Note: This is just a little splash of PWP fic, set between [Bottlenecked Redux](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6151903/chapters/14095195) and **_Front Man Redux_** (coming soon!).  
>  Title card by [](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/)**dawnie_faith**. Comments = Love. ♥
> 
> Music: [Everything – Lifehouse](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjDojEOiMcE) (Peter & Neal’s love theme)  
> To listen while reading, just right-click the link and open in a new window.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

When El drifted into consciousness, nestled in the warm half-circle of her husband’s arm, she could sense that Peter was already awake. Her sapphire eyes slid open and she brushed a kiss over the pectoral beneath her cheek. “What time is it?”

“About six,” Peter replied quietly, bending his head and brushing a kiss over the crown of hers. “Alarm won’t go off for another half-hour.”

“And yet you’re already awake.” Shifting, Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow and placed a gentle kiss to Peter’s lips. “Which means there’s something on your mind. Neal, work or both?” Peter gave a slightly abashed smile and Elizabeth shook her head. “I shouldn’t even have to ask. Who else would you think about when you’re in bed with me?”

Peter’s eyes went wide in alarm, his arms wrapping around his wife’s slim back to pull her closer. “El, I have never-”

“Oh, stop; I know you haven’t. I’m only teasing.” El ran soft fingers over his lips, silencing his protestation. _Most women would be absolutely furious at the idea that their husband is daydreaming about another lover while they’re curled up in his arms… and I don’t know what any of us would be doing right now if I was one of them._ “So… what’s the problem?”

“Ah, it’s nothing…” El’s expression became immediately skeptical, and Peter gave over with a sigh. “We had… well, there was a thing, while you were at your sister’s… Neal and I had a pretty big fight, and it was partly because I was kind’ve a jackass to him.”

El’s brow knitted in concern. “I thought everything was fine between you two. This last case, especially… you didn’t even blink when I asked you to stay with Neal while Dana was here.”

“We got everything sorted out and made up, yeah,” Peter hastily agreed. “But… well… it’s kinda hard to explain.”

It took Elizabeth Burke less than a minute to size her husband up. “You both said you’re sorry, you had some great make-up sex and put everything behind you, but you still feel guilty about having done whatever you did.”

“Part of what I did that got the fight going was totally justified,” Peter protested. “Neal cut me out of the loop and I needed to know what was going on.”

“But something else happened that you don’t feel you really apologized for with a simple ‘I’m sorry’ and a romp between the sheets,” Elizabeth countered.

Peter’s russet eyes were dark, unfocused as he turned to look out the bedroom window, staring blindly at the morning light filtering through the curtains. “I missed something important, El… and made what was happening worse because I missed it. I’m not sure there’s anything that can be done to make it better… but two little words don’t even come close to covering it.”

A moment’s pause. “Three might.”

The line of Peter’s jaw set stubbornly. “No, El. You know how I feel on that subject.”

Elizabeth huffed a sigh of frustration. Both of her men were being so utterly stubborn about this… “All right… well, then you should do something else. Something Neal won’t expect.”

“Such as?”

“Oh… I don’t know.” Elizabeth ran a light hand over Peter’s chest, a mischievous smile playing at her lips as she slid one leg across his hips. His hands automatically went to her hips, bringing her up to lie atop him. Her smile turned lazy as she ran teasing fingers down Peter’s sides, sinuously nestling against him. “We took all those couples classes when we first got married… you use them with me when you apologize…”

She was right, of course. Wanting to have every possible tool at his disposal to keep this beautiful woman happy, Peter had been more than willing to take massage classes, dance classes, cooking classes… anything Elizabeth had thought might bring them closer, or be something fun they could do together, Peter had been willing to try. The dance classes had been nearly disastrous… the cooking classes hadn’t gone off too badly, though he wasn’t nearly the gourmand that El or Neal were. But he had learned a few things…

Elizabeth could see the plan form in his mind and bent to brush a kiss over his lips. “You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”

Peter’s vision focused on the present, on his wife, her sapphire eyes dancing and her lush curves pressed against him in the soft morning light. Neal was always giving him advice, trying to help Peter keep this beautiful woman that he didn’t come close to deserving… and now she was returning the favor. _I don’t deserve her… I genuinely do not deserve this woman… she’s far too good to me…_

“I have some ideas, yes,” Peter replied, rolling his wife down into the mattress. “Not the least of which being that the alarm still hasn’t gone off, I have a brilliant, beautiful woman that I love in my bed, and I really can’t let an opportunity like this go to waste.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught as Peter’s lips found the curve of her throat, his hands expertly skimming the crest of her hips as her legs tangled around his. _If I was ever afraid that letting him have Neal would put a damper on our sex life… I swear sometimes it’s exactly the opposite…_ “No… I don’t suppose you can.”

* * *

Getting out of the office early in the evenings was a genuinely mixed blessing. It meant time to meet with Moz and try to obtain some kind of information about the music box. It meant dinner out, or with June, and fascinating fireside discussions of her husband and his compatriots from the glory days of the Rat Pack. It meant time to himself, to read and think, or sketch and paint.

But all of that was usually because it meant that Peter was going home to Brooklyn that night, and Neal was spending his evening alone.

No matter how conflicting Neal’s emotions were when it came to his tangled relationship with Peter, he didn’t begrudge El time with him. It was never a competition between them for Peter’s time and affection. And it also gave Neal opportunities to distract Moz from suspecting how close he really was to Peter. Neal knew that Moz was starting to suspect something; his mentor wasn’t blind and had known him for half his life; but Neal didn’t need the complication. Not now. Not when he was waiting for Alex to respond to his missive and things with Fowler were so close to coming to a head.

But things _were_ close, and if something went wrong… if Peter got in the middle again, and Fowler went after more than Peter’s career… it frightened Neal, made Neal want Peter close as often as possible. Made him want to absorb every last ounce of safety he could, inuring himself against a time, that might not be very far off, when even that would be taken from him.

Lost in thought as he came upstairs, Neal almost missed that the lights in the suite were low, candles flickering in the twilight. Caught off-guard, Neal’s eyes scanned the room, quickly falling on a splash of color at the table that hadn’t been there before.

Cut crystal vases, three of them, artfully displaying a profusion of long-stemmed sweetheart roses arranged with lush green ferns. Six dozen at least: decadent crimson, yellow nearly as bright as daffodils, sunset-fire orange.

Red, for passion. Yellow, to apologize. Orange, declaring that the sender considers the recipient a great beauty. The richer the color, the more beautiful the recipient in the eyes of the sender. Neal was caught by the vibrant color, his fingers stretching out before he could think to look around the suite further and sliding over the edges of the delicate blooms.

“Do you like them?” Peter’s voice was soft behind him. Neal heard the faint footfall as Peter drew closer, barefoot on the hardwood floor.

“They’re beautiful,” Neal replied quietly. “What’s the occasion?”

“You.” Warm hands came to rest at Neal’s waist, a strong jaw pressing into Neal’s cheek as he was drawn back against the solid, safe planes of Peter’s body.

Neal turned easily in those arms, finding Peter’s lips without needing to look. They knew one another too well by now, a hundred nights of uninhibited desire lending familiar ease to their touches. Peter was bare to the waist, leaving acres of smooth skin available to Neal’s fingers. A low hum of contentment rolled in Neal’s throat. “Me? What did I do?”

“You stayed,” Peter replied softly. “And you forgave me.”

Neal’s eyes blinked open, a little startled. They’d been fine lately; the thing with Keller had brought them together, not torn them apart, and there’d been no impulse to abandon their deal over Keller’s stunt. So what could Peter possibly be talking about?

There was no opportunity to voice the question. Peter’s lips returned to his, indulging Neal’s mouth in a slow, deep, open kiss that left Neal’s knees wobbly and his inquisitive nature tumbled into a quiet corner of his mind. Neal gave himself up to the taste of Peter’s mouth, the gentle shape of those talented lips, the luxuriant way they moved so softly against his own. Peter’s passions ran deep, and Neal reveled in the firestorms that left him senseless and wrung out and gasping in Peter’s arms. But Peter in a softer mood was just as good: an ocean of warmth and safety that let Neal just stop, breath, float… let him just be.

Those strong, warm hands slid down to Neal’s waist, tugging the turtleneck free and sliding beneath. The contact radiated through Neal’s skin, drawing out a soft little gasp against Peter’s mouth: a tiny wanton sound that was half-invitation, half-plea. Peter chuckled. “So responsive, sweetheart…”

Neal could only whimper his agreement and sway into Peter’s embrace, needing more of that touch… more of Peter… more of _everything…_

Smooth, controlled gestures removed each piece of Neal’s clothing, carefully folding it aside. It thrilled Neal a little, the time and care that Peter was taking: unhurried, as if he had no other care in the world than baring Neal’s skin to his gaze.

When Neal was naked in the candlelight, Peter kissed him, long and lingering, before lifting Neal into his arms and carrying him into the bath. “My feet aren’t touching the floor much tonight, are they?”

“Not in the plan, no,” Peter replied blithely, settling Neal on the vanity as he started the shower and stripped down.

Neal couldn’t help admiring the view, drinking in the long lines and firm muscles. Peter wasn’t a body-builder by any means, but he did take care of himself, and the strength of all that well-tended muscle was as deceptive as it was comforting. When Peter turned back, Neal gave him a mischievous grin. “Most artists would give their eye teeth for a model like you, Peter.”

Peter actually blushed faintly. “Not my style, sweetheart.” Scooping Neal off the vanity, Peter set Neal on his feet under the gentle spray of warm water. “You, maybe… if you asked nicely.”

The grin Neal wore turned positively devilish as water sluiced across his neck and shoulders. “I can ask _very_ nicely if I want something enough, Peter.”

The smile he got back was fond, indulgent, as Peter picked up the natural sponge Neal hadn’t noticed before. “I know.”

Peter didn’t tease him; it was strange to Neal, but nothing Peter did was intended to be erotic. He didn’t purposely linger on sensitive places or whisper dirty things in Neal’s ear. His touch wasn’t impersonal, but it wasn’t overtly sexual, either. Just… gentle. Careful, as if Neal was a precious thing that might break under less delicate caresses. Patient and thorough, leaving no part of Neal’s body untouched, meticulously cleansing the stress of the day from Neal’s skin.

By the time Peter set the sponge aside and started gently working shampoo into Neal’s hair, Neal wasn’t entirely sure he’d have the strength to stand if Peter weren’t behind him. Being pampered by Peter in such a simple way felt good… like he was being cherished…

Almost like being loved.

Long fingers massaged his scalp, directed his head under the water with lightest pressure, worked in conditioner until every strand of Neal’s hair had been coated, would be soft and glistening. Neal hummed in contentment, eyes closed, letting Peter lead wherever he wished.

When Peter had finally finished bathing him, he let Neal lean against him as the water was snapped off. Fresh towels had been laid out, and Peter took special care to dry Neal’s entire body with the warm cotton, again leaving no part of Neal unattended. His own body was dried quickly, and then he was carrying Neal, who was near to drowsing already, into the bedroom and laying him out on fresh percale sheets, the blankets already turned down.

Neal sighed and he laid out on his front, tucking his arms under the pillow and nestling down. Peter chuckled, a gentle sound, as he settled in beside Neal on the bed. “Don’t go to sleep on me now, sweetheart… night’s not over yet.”

One sapphire eye opened, and then Neal was leaning up to look at Peter in open curiosity. “I’m still not sure why you’re doing this, Peter… we haven’t had a fight recently and we’ve made up from the ones we did have.”

Reaching out, Peter ran a gentle thumb over Neal’s lower lip, his eyes glowing embers. “I know… but I missed things I shouldn’t have.”

 _The jade elephant case,_ Neal suddenly realized. _This is about the thing with the jade elephants and the three thugs and Pierce and him setting me off…_ “Peter…”

Peter’s fingers touched Neal’s lips, shushing him silently. “I’d do the same for El, sweetheart… equal in respect, remember? Now just lie still.”

Obediently, Neal nestled back down. Peter wanted to do this for him. Wanted to apologize for not catching the signs that Neal was psychologically in trouble, and for exacerbating the situation with his behavior. Wanted to treat Neal as he would treat Elizabeth, if it had been she who’d had a post-traumatic episode and Peter had behaved like such a boor.

Frightened by his own reactions, Neal had done some research. Had come to understand, to an extent, what those warning signs meant. Rape was a traumatic event. Prison, and the violence of life inside, had also been a trauma to Neal. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, an insidious self-diagnosis, but the one which made the most sense, and its manifestations, both physical and emotional during an episode, matched too closely to what Neal had felt at the time.

He couldn’t afford to try and get a counselor for it: financially, he could manage, but time was a resource he couldn’t parcel out any thinner. He was stretched to the limit, and things were likely to get dicey quickly, especially if Peter didn’t buy into his excuses or started watching him too closely.

Thoughts of all this spun away, dissolving into a sensuous haze of safety, as Peter’s hands touched his back. Slick with oil and naturally warm, Neal could only let out a soft groan of encouragement as they started on the tense axis of his shoulders, working into the muscles and relieving the stress he’d carried for weeks. Peter was here, and if he didn’t love Neal, at least he cared enough to do this. To give this much of himself. Neal wasn’t sure how long that would be good enough for any of them, but for now, he merely absorbed Peter’s presence and ministrations.

Long, slow, deep strokes. Just like in the shower, Peter left no part of Neal unattended. But in the shower, Peter hadn’t been trying to arouse Neal. Now, he was letting his hands linger over the sensitive places, fingers straying pressure over nerve clusters that sent shivers through Neal’s blood. Neal gasped and whined, pressing himself down into the mattress and trying not to beg out loud, to let Peter continue his obviously well-laid plan.

A kiss dropped to his left shoulder blade, and Neal heard himself whimper. “Let me hear you, sweetheart,” Peter murmured. “I love hearing how responsive you are to me…”

Those hands started kneading the firm muscles at the small of his back, teasing across his buttocks, and Neal’s groan was a rumble of pure want rolling in his throat like thunder from a storm on the horizon.

Another kiss, brushed just at the crest of his backside, and Peter’s hands kept moving, never stopping, kneading along one leg, then the other. Working the nerve cluster just above the knee, setting off waves of endorphins that had cries breaking in Neal’s throat like waves crashing on a storm-tossed shore. Peter swatted Neal’s right cheek with the flat of his hand, letting just a hint of a sting into the contact. “Stay still, sweetheart… you’re wriggling.”

Neal gasped. “Peter…”

“Soon, sweetheart.” Peter kissed the spot, a smile tugging at his lips. “Soon…”

By the time Peter reached the skin under the anklet, the pads of his fingers slipping beneath the band and stroking circles of pressure into the slightly-chafed skin, Neal was sure that ‘soon’ wasn’t going to feel that way at all. He held himself still for Peter, flattening himself against the mattress in an instinctual search for the friction he craved, for a semblance of the touch his body pleaded for, as Peter continued his massage down into the sole of Neal’s foot. Deep, even strokes against muscles Neal hadn’t even thought were sore, relieving pressure though his whole body and somehow making him more impatient.

“Peter…” Neal heard the whine ring in his voice, the way his breath caught as he struggled to control the way his hips quested for Peter’s weight and warmth. “Please… I need… oh, Peter, please…”

A kiss to the small of his back. A chuckle vibrating against the bare skin as Peter’s fingers shifted to concentrate on Neal’s other foot. “You think I’d leave you wanting, sweetheart? That I wouldn’t give you anything you ask?”

It was a loaded question, almost breaking the spell of warm hands and soft light. It was a risk asking to begin with, when the balance between them was delicate as glass. Neal didn’t dare voice what he wanted to say: didn’t dare ask for Peter’s heart. Peter was waiting, hands never still, bare skin warm where it pressed into Neal’s own.

“No,” Neal finally whispered. “I don’t think that.”

More kisses. Peter couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. They fell like softest spring rain across his skin, until Neal was mewling and arching up to meet the delicate brushes of Peter’s lips. A cry of relief slipped free as those slick fingers finally worked their way back up, finding tight muscle all too eager to relax under Peter’s ministrations.

One hand found Neal’s as Peter stretched out beside him, kisses still scattering across the axis of Neal’s shoulders, along the curve of Neal’s neck. Neal rolled back into Peter, hips shifting in search of more pressure… more of Peter’s touch… he felt hungry, empty, desperate for more than the skill of those fingers… the storm hovered on the edge of his senses and he needed to be safe…

Safety surrounded him, snubbed in and filled him, enveloped him so gently that Neal felt tears slip from his eyes. His hands stilled Peter’s before Peter could touch him, wordlessly asking to just be, just float, to relax into the wax and wane of Peter inside and tangled around and right here…

“Sweetheart…” A rumble of roughened velvet in his ear. Neal pressed closer, his head fitting into the curve of Peter’s throat, tiny cries spilling out as Peter sheltered him from the storm… became the storm… one he welcomed, like summer rain, because he was still safe…

When Peter’s hand finally crept below Neal’s waist, a subtle counterpoint to the deep rock and press inside, Neal surrendered, gave up any attempt to direct, gave himself over to the uninhibited joy of being in Peter’s arms, anchoring to Peter as tightly as he could and letting Peter carry him through the storm…

“That’s it, sweetheart.” Peter kissed Neal’s shoulder, twisting his wrist on an upstroke and shifting the angle of their hips. A broken gasp dragged out of Neal, muscles clenching as the quicksilver creature he loved hovered on the edge… “Just let go… I’ll catch you.”

Another gentle, twisting stroke of talented fingers… hard heat pressing even deeper, warm weight dragging over the bundle of nerves… Peter’s name broke on Neal’s tongue as he shattered, coming apart in Peter’s arms.

The last feeling Neal remembered as the world came off its axis was Peter cradling him as he fractured, whispering softness in his ear and giving him a safe place to fall.

* * *

The room was dark when Neal opened his eyes again. Peter had, at some point, snuffed the candles and tucked them both in; even now, he had Neal folded gently in his arms, Neal’s head pillowed against Peter’s still-bare chest. Neal realized with a start that, lulled by Peter’s attentions and drained by his orgasm, he had drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.

“You’re wearing yourself too thin,” Peter murmured.

Neal glanced up in time to see Peter smiling, eyes glowing tenderness in the shadows. “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.” Peter’s hand stroked gently down Neal’s spine, trailing soothing echoes of his massage earlier in its wake across the lean muscle. “You needed it, I think.”

Stretching out against Peter, Neal felt several things slot into place: Peter hadn’t just finished while he was unconscious, although the elder man was no longer aroused. Significant thought and effort had been put into this surprise, and he’d obviously taken the time to clean up after their lovemaking, had simply slipped in with Neal while Neal had slept with no apparent expectation of reciprocity.

Neal loved Peter more in that moment than he’d believed possible.

“You’ve got some serious skills, there, Peter.” Neal let mischief tug his lips into a smile. “Definitely magic in those hands of yours.”

“Cute, Neal.” Peter’s hand lightly swatted Neal’s hip when it reached the base of his spine. “It’s just something I learned, back when El and I first got married. Comes in handy, now and then.”

“That’s a gross underselling of your talents,” Neal chided. “Seriously, you should consider it for when you retire. That was one of the best massages I’ve ever had.”

Peter gave him a crooked grin. “You’re just saying that because you got off.”

“You didn’t.” The words popped out before Neal could stop them, and a faint blush crept across his face.

One eyebrow quirked, and then Peter leaned up to brush a gentle kiss across Neal’s forehead. “Tonight was for you,” was his only response.

Long moments passed. The only sound was Neal’s heartbeat in his ears, thundering in the quiet. In the whole of his life, no one had ever taken care of him the way Peter did. Neal knew he had no right to this. No right to ask for more. Peter already gave without being asked, more than Neal ever could have believed he deserved.

And Neal would do anything to keep Peter safe. More than he’d ever thought himself capable of.

He leaned up, pressing a deep grateful kiss to Peter’s lips, and then Neal’s lips were scattering kisses across Peter’s chest, nimble fingers dancing patterns of adoration over Peter’s skin. Peter groaned, his own fingers lacing into the silk of Neal’s hair; he was hardening fast, as responsive to Neal as Neal was to him. It warmed Neal’s heart even more, made his kisses linger, drawing tiny red weals on Peter’s skin that would fade before the night was gone.

Once, what felt like a very long time ago, Neal had hated doing this. Had only done it when it was necessary to his survival or his schemes. Here, now, it was natural as breathing to slip his mouth over Peter’s erection. To flick his tongue across the weeping slit, sampling the salt-musk liquid gathering there. To give back to Peter as much unselfish desire as he could, relaxing his throat and taking Peter whole.

It was a skill he hadn’t employed with Peter before, drawing a startled gasp that broke off into a long groan of his name. Tonight was special. Tonight was for him. This idyll, where the night was still and the only sounds were the slick slide of lips on heated flesh and abandoned moans of pleasure, would sustain Neal through the gathering storm.

He loved Peter Burke. Loved him enough to not balk at anything the man desired. Loved him enough that Neal needed to protect him, at any cost. Even if it meant putting himself in the line of fire.

Warmth spilled down his throat, his name another truncated gasp on Peter’s lips. Neal drank desire easily, relinquishing Peter only when the spasms in his lover’s thighs and stomach quieted, letting himself be drawn up by strong arms that immediately curled him close as he pressed an almost chaste kiss to those gentle mauve lips.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Peter told him quietly.

“I know.” Neal smiled, content to rest in Peter’s arms. To measure the beat of that boundless heart against his chest and feel the deceptive coil of muscle beneath his fingertips. “I wanted to.”

Peter kissed him back, letting Neal nestle into the hollow of his shoulder.

The storm was coming. They both could sense it. But it would not break tonight, and that, for now, was everything.


End file.
